


Never Let Me Go

by slowitdownbaby



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Taem is high af for most of the fic, but Kyungsoo loves him anyway, slight mentions of homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:02:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6549907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowitdownbaby/pseuds/slowitdownbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“I love you,” Kyungsoo says, like a waiter desperately offering hors d’oeuvres, as much a middle-finger to that past as anything else. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <br/><em>“I know,” Taemin says, rolling over toward him, “I love you, too.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Let Me Go

 

 _Hold me in your arms,_  
_Love me like your best friends did,_  
_Promise I won't hurt you kid,_  
_Hold me really tight until the stars look big,_  
_Never let me go_

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re just going to lay there?”

 

 

 

“No.” Taemin turns his head to sort of look up at Kyungsoo, and he briefly feels lucky, like his lottery numbers just got called. Kyungsoo figures, there’s an endless list of people in the world, right now, looking at things nowhere near as essential as this fucking face looking up at him, right now, and he almost wants to donate all of his money to charity, to make up for it, but he’s only got like twenty bucks in his wallet at the moment, and his bank account is constantly being monitored by the company for any notice of extravagant splurges, if memory serves, so it’s only a feeling, like most things.

 

 

Taemin blinks at him.

 

 

“You know what hit me today?”

 

 

Kyungsoo snorts and then scratches his head. “That you need to do your sock laundry? That wearing shoes without socks is gross?”

 

 

“I’m wearing socks, you fucking…shit-fucker—dick…shit-face. Ass.”

 

 

Kyungsoo only laughs. “Okay, I’m sorry. What hit you?”

 

 

“Are you going back inside to the party?”

 

 

“No, not without you.”

 

 

“Lie down, then. Or sit.”

 

 

Kyungsoo blinks at him, at the dirt around him.

 

 

Taemin took some pill, earlier. Kyungsoo remembers them walking into the room together, filled with the usual SM attendees, mostly company friends and labelmates, Joonmyun hosting a little soirée for Sehun’s birthday, and it’s spring, and Miyoung almost immediately sees Taemin as soon as they arrive, and goes, “Taemin! Sweetie, give me a hug. I got a surprise for you.”

 

 

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, which was fine, because she did her best to not acknowledge him **AT ALL** , which is what most half the female population tends to do when he’s with Taemin, and they want to say hi to him, like Kyungsoo is some inner-city youth Taemin is forced to spend time with (he’s _not_ ).

 

 

Like, they don’t even glance in his direction, and so Kyungsoo just ends up playing with his cell-phone or something. Tonight, with Miyoung, it was too packed to play with his phone, and he’d already been drinking, so Kyungsoo just kind of stares at her face as she blinks at Taemin, and laughed, and touched the lapel of his leather jacket, and leaned in real close to him, and gave him a pill. Then her friend OMG’s about something, distracting her; Taemin turns to him, grinning, leaned to his ear, and said, “Let’s go find a good corner to optimize our judging of everyone.”

 

 

Kyungsoo snorts and leads the way deeper into the room, silently watching as Soojung and Jongin not-so-discreetly make their way towards the bathroom together for a quickie out of the corner of his eye. Taemin always knows what he likes to hear and puts in the effort of actually saying it, which is better than most people, who can only barely manage one or the other. But anyway, that’s the pill he’s on now, outside, and Kyungsoo moves to sit down next to him.

 

 

Taemin takes a deep breath, exhales. “Cuddle with me.”

 

 

“No.”

 

 

He snorts, grabs at Kyungsoo to pull him closer. “ _Cuddle with me._ ”

 

 

“No!” and Kyungsoo moves to scoot away from him, although, now, with a boner he must hide. Anybody attempting to enjoy him physically _must be kidding_. But if they were alone, he’d push the joke as far into Taemin’s pants as he could. They’re not alone, though, they’re at a party, and Taemin won’t be on a fun-pill in the morning—except maybe aspirin—but Kyungsoo would still be someone who did a little too much the night before, in front of a little too many people, and so would Taemin, and when one’s motivations aren’t entirely their own, the results aren’t often easy to live with.

 

 

So, living with a barely-concealed hard-on is endlessly preferable to the version of life where this body—this fucking body right here—was something Kyungsoo watched exist, and grow, and thrive in an orbit separate from his own, just because he couldn’t control in one of the only settings in which it was necessary. So he sits yoga-style near Taemin’s left hand. Kyungsoo settles for looking at said hand, limp, and putting his hand around Taemin’s thumb, like it’s some other part of him, and sort of fondles it in a similar fashion, and he goes, “What did you learn today?” and lets got of said thumb. 

 

 

“I didn’t learn it. It just hit me. Like, today.” He’s looking at the sky, though it’s overcast, and it’s supposed to rain before the night is over. Meaning, he’s looking at uniform grayness ( _Join the club_ , Kyungsoo thinks), and he exhales, licks his lips, goes, “It hit me like…everyone is so fucked. Like, we’re kids for so long, and get so used to someone caring about what the fuck is wrong—why we don’t feel good at this particular moment, what they can do to change that, what we want, and how we’d almost have nothing to complain about if not for that _one damn thing_ —and then we get thrust out, and it’s like we’re just looking for someone to reclaim the mantle of giving a shit about what the fuck is wrong with us, each moment. Like, ‘BOOM, this is wrong—you care, right?’ As if, like…as if our parents babying us is the default setting for all human beings, and anyone who doesn’t fit that criteria is a piece of shit. But it’s like, _we were being babied!_  Who else in their right mind is going to do that for you once they really get to know you? Not even your parents do! They get tired of it. And they call it love. Like…the premise being, the warmest thing you can be for someone is protection from, like…whatever they’ve got coming to them. And if you’re not that… Like, people want to fuck each other, right? And then comes, like, the chemical addiction, which, like, is totally fucking natural, and beautiful, and the institution of marriage is based on this dependency, which isn’t bad, and that’s not to say that there’s no such thing as true love. It’s just that it’s science. Serotonin, dopamine…love isn’t _worth less_ because these chemicals are causing it, ya know?”

 

 

He laughs, lolls his head in Kyungsoo’s direction. _Is kissing him even possible?,_ He wonders. _Like, is there anyone who can do it? Could I start the trend?_

 

 

“Hold my hand again?” Taemin asks and Kyungsoo does, properly this time, as if they were hanging off a cliff, and he needed Kyungsoo’s grip to survive, though he knows it’s not the case, metaphorically even.

 

“If people held onto who they loved the most, the world probably wouldn’t be anything like this. Like, instead of whatever they’re obsessing about, and so they feel like they have to win over.”

 

 

His shirt is riding up. Life on earth has evolved to the happy trail at which Kyungsoo stares.

 

 

Amen.

 

 

“You think so?”

 

 

Taemin snorts. “Cuddle with me.”

 

 

"Tae…”

 

 

“I’m fucking rolling my face off, and I don’t give a fuck. Just lay with me. You’re the one who’s afraid. That’s how it works. What you think people think is what you fucking think.”

 

 

Kyungsoo looks over his shoulder, at the building, and the party. A bunch of cigarette smokers are getting their laugh on out on the patio, which is quite a bit away from them. Taemin is the only person there who hasn’t already gotten all they’re gonna get out of him, not that Kyungsoo knows of anyway. He knocks back his cup of shitty soju, come to terms with the dirt, and rolls into the crook of Taemin’s arm, and he brings his arm to Kyungsoo’s body, so that his hand is warming the older males tricep, absently.

 

 

He forgot to bring a jacket.

 

 

His heart is beating really fast.

 

 

Kyungsoo is filled with the kind of anxiety that screams ‘change the channel’ when there are a ton of people in your living room, and you have the remote. He can’t just sit still—most things don’t have inherent meaning, but still, when left on their own, they plague him. He goes,

 

 

“When did you hang out with Miyoung?”

 

 

He’s an idiot. Taemin doesn’t notice, or care, but Kyungsoo does.

 

_How is that helpful?_

_Because it was on your mind._

_Shit. Maybe. Whatever._

 

 

Taemin goes, “I saw her at the company the other day. Can I tell you a story about her? It might make you mad. It’s about your bandmate. The tall one with the creepy smile.”

 

 

Kyungsoo licks his lips. He tries imagine comfort as a collection of particles in the air that are settling over them, drawing air from his lungs, pushing more in; Kyungsoo thinks of the darkness everywhere and simply picture the two of them as part of it, just something else that comes with the sun setting. “You can say.” 

 

 

“Okay. I was…dancing. In one of the practice rooms. But I was, like, resting, ‘cause I do intervals where I dance for a couple of hours, and then I rest for a bit, then dance some more, blahblah. But she came in while I was resting, ‘cause she was leaving, and I guess she wanted to know if I was coming to this. So says her and her friend got pills or whatever, and I didn’t have to pay, and I’m like, yeah, definitely. And then your bandmate walks by.”

 

 

“Chanyeol.”

 

 

“Yeah. And she’s like…”

 

 

Kyungsoo closes his eyes and puckers his lips toward the images in his head. Taemin replaces them with the story about how Miyoung said that guys like Chanyeol wish they were girls. How he moves his hips a certain way, and gives ‘don’t get me started’ looks to people who bring up the one thing they know they shouldn’t, and wears v-neck t-shirts to the gym, and BB-cream. Kyungsoo’s heard this story a million times.

 

 

A version of it.

 

 

“ ' _I’m glad you’re not like that_.' Like it’s a compliment. ' _I’m glad it’s easy to pretend you’re not gay sometimes_ ,’ they may as well say. Like everyone isn’t just doing an impression of some person they wish they were. Like we’re _ourselves._ Of course we are. But like it’s something new. Like people are changing, and not just the world around them. Shit. Kyungsoo _is_ drunk.

 

 

“Fuck Miyoung,” Kyungsoo says, not meaning to. “Sorry.”

 

 

“No. Fuck her. She’s who put me in this mood. Of course this mood fucking _floats_ on drugs, and with you, but it sucked all day long before this.”

 

 

Kyungsoo nods. “Well, I’m sorry for that, then.” 

 

 

Neither of them says anything for a while. They can hear the people over on the deck laughing about whatever they’ve got on their minds, not them, most likely, but Taemin can’t help feeling entitled to it, because he can hear it. 

 

 

"You think we’ll take the easy way out?”

 

 

Kyungsoo shrugs. “No. I dunno. No, though.”

 

 

“We might. We have before.”

 

 

“I know. We might, I guess. Nothing means anything. How do you know what you’re supposed to stick around for, if you know you’ll be okay no matter what happens, the way everyone always is?”

 

 

“Ugh.” Taemin groans and puts his face against the top of Kyungsoo’s head, kisses it, inhales. Exhales, “Love, babe. There’s no way it’s made up. You might be okay no matter what, but you won’t be the same. No fucking way.”

 

 

Kyungsoo closes his eyes again, purses his lips toward Taemin’s words, and the thoughts they sprout like a garden of possible futures, as an out couple in the idol world as that sounds; as much as he knows that looking at things that way is a hate passed down to him from a world hoping they might never come to exist.

 

 

“I love you,” Kyungsoo says, like a waiter desperately offering hors d’oeuvres, as much a middle-finger to that past as anything else. Fuck the past. Fuck whatever it takes. Just be the future already.

 

 

“I know,” Taemin says, rolling over toward him, voices no longer coming from the direction of the house, not laughter, only the faint tendrils of music. “I love you, too.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> __  
>    
> 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ´͈ ᵕ `͈ ♡°◌̊


End file.
